


The High Price of Hospitality

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Brotp, F/F, Gen, Humor, f/f - Freeform, snappy dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:44:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2319557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>More cranky Asha/Brienne BROTP fun as they're forced to seek the hospitality of Brienne's sister in law, Lysa, and we confirm that Asha has a taste for unpredictable, slightly dangerous women.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The High Price of Hospitality

Asha pulled her horse up alongside Brienne’s as they made their way over the craggy ridge that overlooked Nightshade Valley. She didn’t mind riding this rocky country, but it wasn’t terribly well suited to pitching camp. They had a few hours to sort that out, yet, but she was thinking of it already.

“So, where do you reckon we’ll cozy up tonight, then, Evenstar?” she asked Brienne.

Brienne shook her head. “I don’t know. We lost too much time last night on account of your insatiable need for yet another tavern brawl.”

Asha laughed, as she was wont to do when Brienne grumbled about her combative habits. “It wasn’t my fault!”

“It never is.”

“And you put on quite a show,” Asha added.

Brienne tried not to let a smirk creep out onto her face. She’d literally run this chap through and then continued to use the sword with him still stuck on it, swinging both him and the blade around in what could only be described as a remarkably efficient approach. It wouldn’t have been her first choice to fight that way, but it worked. And, she supposed, it was rather memorable. “Only to yank your ass out of the fire,” she harumphed.

Asha, meanwhile, had been jumping about on tabletops and swinging from the rafters, merrily laying waste with her axe, laughing all the while and even pausing to finish the ale left in a tankard of some bloke she’d just laid down. She knew Brienne at this point had come to enjoy this sort of thing, but as a matter of propriety had to continue to pretend to be annoyed by it.

“Well,” she began, returning to the subject, “regardless, we’ve got to decide what the plan is. We’re in the Eyrie, after all; surely your sister-in-law would receive us?”

Brienne looked pained. She understood perfectly well that her lady’s sister Lysa had had a truly difficult life, and that all of her erratic and sometimes unpleasant behavior was really no fault of hers, but nevertheless, she never particularly relished having to visit with her. And she was fairly sure that showing up unannounced was going to earn them some particular unpleasantness. The only saving grace was that Brienne had a good way with her boy, Robin, and Lysa seemed to appreciate that.

“What?” Asha prodded. “Doesn’t she like you? I mean, you being so full of charm and wit, after all.”

Brienne huffed a bit, barely acknowledging the jab. “She’s just… she’s a bit… well, unpredictable.”

Asha raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Moody. Odd. It’s… it’s hard to explain.” She really didn’t want to bring Asha into Lysa’s house. Both of these women were a bloody handful on their own, she couldn’t imagine such an encounter ending well.

Asha grinned. “Well, you’d best figure out a way, Evenstar, because we’re a half day’s ride from her, with no good places to pitch camp and not an inn to speak of, so far as I know.”

Brienne realized with some consternation that she was right.

****

It was early in the evening when they found themselves requesting entry at the Bloody Gate. After supper, but not quite dark. Lysa received them in the Great Room, and spent quite some time looking back and forth between them without saying a word, appraising them with suspicion and, if one tilted one’s head to the side and squinted, a bit of hostility.

“Well?” she finally said.

Brienne cleared her throat. “Seven blessings, my lady. It’s good to see you again. I trust you’re well?”

“I am.”

“And Robin?”

“In bed, as he should be at this hour.”

Another awkward moment with no words between them.

“Er, my lady, your sister sends her love.”

“Send mine back when you get round to it,” Lysa answered, and Brienne had trouble telling what her mood was.

“Er, may I present my traveling companion, Lady Asha Greyjoy, Queen of the Iron Islands.” She gestured to Asha, who nodded her head toward Lysa. Brienne elbowed her and she managed a perfunctory bow.

Lysa looked back and forth between them. “Well? What do you want, then?”

Asha stepped forward and turned on her charm. Brienne fretted. Asha could actually be very engaging in a rough, foul-mouthed sort of way. Whether it would work on Lady Lysa was hard to guess. “Only a bed for the night, my lady, and perhaps the pleasure of your company if you felt keen to share a glass of wine or two before we turn in?”

Lysa gazed at Asha for a moment before answering. “You’ll be wanting two beds, then?”

“Aye, my lady, and two rooms, if you can manage it,” Asha replied, “as far from one another as possible. When we pitch camp out of doors, this wench snores loud enough to attract bears.”

Brienne shot her a dirty look.

“Alright. I shall have Garrett see to you. Good night.” And she left abruptly.

Asha grinned at her. “Well now, that wasn’t so bad.”

Brienne scowled.

“She’s lovely.”

“Well cheers to you for managing to not set her off, you tactless pirate.”

“I was VERY charming.”

“Let’s not start slapping ourselves on the back just yet, Greyjoy. The night’s hardly over.”

Asha raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Garrett came and escorted them to their respective chambers at opposite ends of a long stone corridor, promising their horses would be fed and watered and that he’d send some wine and bread and cheese to their rooms.

The two exchanged irritable pleasantries as they parted ways for the night. Brienne turned in, drifting off to warm thoughts of her Catelyn as she always did. Asha drank enough wine to embarrass a sailor, and passed out.

**

She woke some while later with her head still feeling thick from the drink, with a familiar but unexpected feeling: metal against her throat.

“Wake up,” a voice hissed.

Asha’s eyes snapped open and she found Lysa sitting on top of her with a knife to her throat, looking rather ferocious. Hmm. Unpredictable indeed, she thought, reminding herself to give Brienne a sound thrashing when it was all over, for failing to be specific enough.

She gave Lysa a slow, easy smile. “Is there a problem, my lady?”

“ _Is_ there?” Lysa shot back.

“Perhaps we could start with why you’ve got a knife at my throat?” Asha suggested helpfully, still smiling and looking as relaxed as if she were lounging in the sun on the deck of The Storm Runner.

“I want the truth,” she hissed. “Are you shagging my sister’s woman? Because if you are, I’ll end you. I’m the only one who gets to behave dreadfully toward my sister.”

Arya chuckled heartily. “Am I what? Shagging Brienne of Tarth? That bloody ox of a woman? God, no,” and she dissolved into laughter for a few moments. “It’s business we have to attend, is all. Besides, even if I wanted to, there’s not a soul in Westeros that could convince her to stray from Lady Catelyn. She’s far too hung up on her, you see.”

Lysa pressed the flat of her knife against Asha’s throat. She seemed to believe her, but didn’t seem quite done yet. “And what about you? Are you hung up on my sister as well?”

Asha continued smiling. “Not my flavor of ale.” She glanced down at Lysa’s hand. “You know, my lady, this is hardly the first time I’ve woken up with a knife to my throat… But I must admit it’s the first time it was a butter knife.” She raised an inquiring eyebrow. “What exactly did you have planned? For what it’s worth, I’m much tastier with a bit of honey than I am with butter.”

Lysa looked at her strangely for a moment, and Asha felt the pressure lighten at her throat. “What is your flavor, then?”

“What?”

“My sister’s not your flavor of ale; what is, then?”

Asha’s grin became wicked now. “Well, if I’m honest, I have two: big lads with stiff cocks, and red haired ladies who threaten me with edged weapons.”

The butter knife clattered to the floor.

***

Brienne awoke in the night, her lovely dreams of Cat being interrupted by a most horrendous shrieking. Her immediate instinct was to leap from her bed and grab her sword, but as she began stealing down the hall, she realized that the shrieking had a particular… character to it. It wasn’t the shrieking of someone being hurt. It was the shrieking of someone being shagged rotten.

_"Oh!  Gods be good, that's the stuff!  Come on, then, you filthy pirate wench!"_

“Seven hells, Greyjoy,” Brienne grumbled, and trudged back to bed, pulling the pillow around her ears. It always had to be one or the other with that wench: fighting or shagging.

_Tavern brawls beat this by a hundred leagues,_ she thought. _Bloody Greyjoy._


End file.
